Page 81 of Black Sheep

Yes…oh God, yes.

I buck one more time.

“Fuck. Jesus, Cleo, I don’t want to hurt you.”

I’ve endured every imaginable horror in my short lifetime. Finding out what he did to my parents tore my beating heart from my chest. What he’s doing to me now helps me focus on anything but that. He’s my tormentor and my bogus deliverer.

“Do it. Hurt me.”

He tenses like he’s been shot. Then his hips explode.

A low roar starts from deep inside his chest. The higher it builds the faster he fucks me. My front slides against the glass as he rams deep. Deeper into me.

My screams fuse into each other, my throat as raw as my pussy by the time the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced rips through my body. Axel follows behind, his thickness pulsing long and hard and endless inside me. Furnace hot, it burns everything in its path, and I melt into oblivion.

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE INQUISITION

Cleo

When I come to, he’s setting me on my feet.

One arm supports my waist as he smooths my hair back from my face and drops kisses along my jaw.

“It’s almost noon. The chef is on standby. Do you want an early lunch or a late breakfast?”

It’s next to impossible to think about food when my skin is on fire, his cock is still buried inside me and our mingled juices are coating my inner thighs.

I press my heated cheek against the glass and take a deep breath. “I…” I stop and swallow, my tongue a useless organ in my mouth. “I’m…I’ll eat whatever.”

“I’ll have him prepare both.”

He pulls out of me, and something lurches inside of me. It can’t be loss. That would mean in some obscure way, he’s mine. I don’t want him. I can’t.

As I struggle to stop my spinning mind, he props me up with his thighs and tugs the sheet over my shoulders before he sweeps me into his arms. I’m still shaking when we reach the bed, and he sets me down in the middle. After he kisses the tip of my nose, he straightens and zips himself up.

The impressive bulge behind his fly indicates he can go another round. But despite the raw mask of arousal on his face and the light sheen of sweat on his skin, the look in his eyes is ruthlessly intent.

After placing a call to the chef, he strides to the seating area opposite from the window, yanks up a heavy armchair like it weighs nothing and returns with it.

Placing it at the side of the bed, he throws himself into it and props his elbows on his knees.

“First things first.” He casts a scathing look at the bed, the painting, the room. “This room. Considering we were…what did you call us? ‘Horny teenage idiots’? Why dish out ten thousand dollars I fucking know he can’t afford to replicate this? Surely you’re not nostalgic?” His voice pulses with primitive, unyielding power. Falling into exhausted sleep this morning gave me a temporary reprieve.

It’s time to face the devil now. But the reminder of why he is the devil straightens my spine. “Nostalgic? Far from it. I thought a place like this would bring you around faster, that’s all.”

His eyes narrow, probing deep, cutting into me. “You’re fucking lying.”

“I’m not—”

“Cut the crap. You were a shit liar before. You’re still a shit liar. Tell me the truth.”

Emotions burn from gut to throat. I want to wail. I want to find the sharpest sword and drive it through his heart. I want to throw myself off the steepest cliff, take myself out of this horrendous equation that somehow, without my blessing or consent, became the unsanctified triumvirate of Evil Father, Beast Son, and Doomed Lover.

My arms lash out, batting the too-hot sheet away. Recalling that I’m naked underneath, I grab it before it falls away from my breasts. “Fine! I needed the reminder of what a fool I was for believing the apple would, maybe this once, fall far from the tree.”

His nostrils flare wide. A muscle tics at his temple and even though his face pales a little, the mask of deadly rage doesn’t dissipate. “Explain, and explain it well.”

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